Checkmate
by Crow-the-Red
Summary: As much as he enjoyed playing with the minds of his peers, the blue-blooded blonde was getting tired of the same old reactions to his ministrations. It was time to find a new puppet to play with; and as his perfectly manicured nails crossed names off the list, the best canditate showed himself. It was just by chance that the marrionette's strings were tangled beyond repair.
1. Setting up the Pieces

**A/N: As much as I wanted to write a Gary/Petey fic, this idea just popped in my head. And Derby/Kirby is just as good. So enjoy the smut. **

**Checkmate: Set up the pieces**

He couldn't believe it. He really, truly, couldn't believe it. It was impossible; it could never happen. Or at least, that's what Kirby thought. The brown-haired teen shivered as a cold breeze flew across the campus. And this time, he didn't have a tall blonde to curl up against.

Sniffling and wiping his tear-streaked face on his sweater, Kirby started back towards the dorms. He felt bare without Trent walking alongside him. But now, hr doubted he would ever have another conversation with the bully again. He had fucked up; big time.

It's not like he had said anything that Trent didn't already know. The other teen took the statements as a harsh blow. Though, Kirby thought, he didn't have to be so blunt about it. But Trent was asking for trouble when he sent the small jock on yet another trip around town to look for some kind of present. And, as Trent clarified, it 'couldn't be a seashell from the beach. It has to be nice'.

Kirby bristled, remembering the scenario.

The blonde didn't only care about material things, he knew. Sometimes the bully could be quite affectionate. Kirby recalled the time Trent had won him a charm bracelet at the crane game in the carnival. It might have been a little girly, but the jock treasured the accessory all the same.

Not now, though. Kirby felt like throwing the damned thing off a boat in the middle of the ocean. He had searched through all the stores in Bullworth for a nice gift to satisfy Trent's demands. But he found nothing worth buying, and nothing his companion would appreciate.

The chocolate eyed boy had had just about enough of his partner's constant requests. He drew the line when he came back to Trent, who was waiting in the large space under the dock near the Prep's old clubhouse. Kirby had heard that the new guy, Hopkins, now held ownership of it.

Panting, he rested on his knees in front of the blonde, who chuckled.

"'Whatsa matter, baby? Ya need the Trent-man to help ya up?" The taller of the two purred. Kirby growled, slapping away Trent's hand, which had been offered as a support.

"You had me running all over the place!" The jock's voice echoed in the chilled cavern. Kirby stood up and dusted off his sweater, sand grains falling freely from the soft fabric.

Trent laughed lightly and patted his companion on the shoulder.

"S'fine, babe, you can try again tomorrow. But, since you're already here, all worked up and sweaty..." The tall boy advanced his cold hand across Kirby's shoulder blade, dragging his fingers down and into the curve of his back. The action sent shivers down the younger male's spine.

"Come on, Trent, don't do this here," Kirby's breathy request was met with another laugh. Another prying hand found its way onto the jock's back, rubbing small circles soothingly into the skin beneath the sweater.

"Don't be like that. You love it," The blonde replied, continuing his massage. As much as Kirby hated to admit it, Trent was right. He couldn't deny the pleasure that was shooting straight down to his groin, sparking nerves on the way and making him squirm.

Trent was thoroughly enjoying himself getting to touch the jock like this. For the past month, the two had been having secret meetings, making sure that none of the other students were around before starting very enthusiastic kissing sessions. But for some reason that Trent was clueless to, every time he suggested they go further than groping, Kirby ended up blushing furiously and coming up with lame excuses, then running back to the dorms. This time, though, the green eyed bully believed that he was going to get what he had wanted for a long time.

Waiting for some sign of approval before going lower, Trent smirked to himself. After hitting an especially sensitive spot on Kirby's back, the jock involuntarily let out a small moan, which encouraged the blonde's ministrations.

Slowly, so as not to alarm the already worked up teen, Trent dipped his hands lower, softly grasping part of two firm cheeks, contact only blocked by a thin layer of clothes. This elicited a squeak from Kirby, who shifted just enough for Trent to full-on grope his rear end.

"T-Trent, stop," The jock's weak voice signaled that he wanted exactly the opposite of what he was proposing.

"Hah. Doesn't sound like you want me to," The bully said smoothly as he silently brought his right hand under the other male's crotch, reaching further and closing his palm around a pair of prominent balls, the fabric only helping in the mission to send Kirby over the edge.

"U-ungh..." A strangled moan escaped the lips of the brown-haired teen when Trent began rolling his fingers around the two sensitive body parts, awakening sleeping nerves inside Kirby's body and causing him to release sounds of pleasure.

"Baby, careful with those noises, or I won't hold back," Trent warned in a husky tone.

"God...ngh...I can't help it...a-ah, s'too good-ah!"

Kirby yelped when Trent released his grip and placed his hands around his lithe hips, flipping the jock around to face him. The chocolate-eyed boy felt jolts jump down his back as he saw the expression on the blonde's face. His green eyes were clouded with lust, a bead of sweat dripping down from his slightly messy hair as he licked his lips.

"'Kirb, you have no idea how hot you look right now," Trent whispered, bringing himself closer to the other male so that his breath clouded over Kirby's lips. The small jock whimpered, but made no move to push the other away.

Slowly, under the rickety planks of the dock, Trent pressed his parted mouth against his partner's, wrapping his arms softly around Kirby's neck.

To say the least, the football player was shocked. He had never seen – or felt – this romantic, gentle side of Trent before. Probably because most of the blonde's time was spent mocking others and shoving kids in lockers, but right then, Kirby couldn't care less about his companion's morals. All he cared about was how lightly Trent's lips were moving against his own, massaging the lightly parted mouth.

The brown-haired boy sniveled when the taller one pulled away, reaching his hands to Trent's white shirt and firmly clenching the material in his fists. Trent chuckled at the action.

"What, I thought you wanted me to stop...?" He said, enjoying the look of panic Kirby gave him.

"N-no, don't stop, please..." The shorter begged, his fists tightening. This made Trent smile; it was reassuring to know that Kirby wanted him as much as he wanted the jock.

"Well, I guess I can keep going, if you promise not to play chicken this time," He responded, being completely serious. If Kirby decided to bail on him now, all he would be left with would be an erection and a pocket-full of tissues.

The brunette seemed to ponder this for a moment, his eyes looking distant, before giving a slight nod.

"I won't."

And those two words were all it took to make Trent's hands travel from around Kirby's neck to the front of his torso, slipping under the sweater and running along the pale skin. The jock squirmed as the chilled fingers felt their way up to his chest.

_'Snap'_

A noise caused the two to jump, Kirby's head swinging violently to look at where the sound had originated from. A flash of light illuminated the pair for a split second, before fading away. Pushing Trent from his body, the smaller teen bit his lip and stuffed his hands in his pocket, a habit of his.

"Trent, someone saw us, I swear!" Kirby's voice was high, which happened when he got nervous. The blonde bully didn't seemed fazed by the situation.

"It was probably just lightning, 'Kirb. See, the clouds are dark," Trent tried to calm his partner down, strengthening his statement by pointing up at the stirring clouds in the sky. It was already dark, but they were still able to see a storm coming. The jock's breathing slowed down, his head nodding in agreement.

"You really think that's what it was? We weren't caught, right? Right?" Kirby insisted, practically shaking in fear. If any of these meetings were videotaped, he would be an outcast as soon as the rest of the football team saw the videos. Trent chuckled, obviously not bothered at all.

"I'm sure, baby. But you know, if you're really that nervous, you can always come and stay in my room..." The taller of the two suggested, trying to ignore the double meaning. He was being truthful; he didn't like it when _his _Kirby was frightened, it ruined his attractive features.

The brunette sniffled and gave a small, almost unreadable nod. Trent didn't have a roommate (albeit, he wasn't allowed to), which made it a perfect room to bunk in when Kirby was scared. Not to mention, if anyone walked in on them, his partner would beat the shit out of them and blackmail them into not telling anyone about what they'd seen.

"Yeah, I will," Kirby replied quietly, taking the blonde's hand and starting to walk back to the dorms alongside his companion. Neither of them bothered to look around to see what else could have caused the bright light and the snapping sound. To be honest, Trent didn't believe it was lightning; thunder would have followed if it was. But he had to be the man in this relationship, otherwise Kirby would most likely freak out. So he said nothing as they headed back to Trent's room.

Looking back on the ordeal, Kirby frowned bitterly and curled up against the wall of the Aquaberry store, which was closed because of the late hour. The memory sent chills down his spine, partly because he no longer had Trent with him, and partly because he felt like they had been watched, even if Trent had said otherwise. Though he still didn't completely know what happened.

Perfectly manicured fingers closed around the high-class camera, snapping shut the device as a deep baritone voice chuckled. Shoes shuffled through the sand and started carrying the owner towards the Prep's fraternity house.

"Well, well. I'm quite sure everyone will be eager to find out about this little fiasco."

As he entered the lavish lobby of the house, Derby slipped off his shoes and held the camera close to him. Manipulating people was easy; as long as the victim wasn't aware of it.

And Kirby was oblivious to all that was going on behind his back.


	2. Pick your Side

**Checkmate: Pick your Side**

_'Tap tap tap'._

"And if you'll see on page seventy six of your textbook, Lithuania has about a ninety-nine point seven percent literacy rate."

_'Tap tap tap'._

"This beautiful country is a part of Europe, and is one of the three modern Baltic States. A ways back, Finland was also part of this group."

_'Tap tap tap'._

"It rests under Latvia and Estonia, where – Mr. Olsen, would you mind setting your pencil down?"

Kirby sighed and rested his pencil next to his untouched piece of paper, which was supposed to be filled with notes. Mr. Matthews nodded in approval before continuing his teaching.

The chocolate-eyed teen supported his head with his hand, trying his best not to let out a huge yawn. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He was too worried. The ordeal a few days ago had been eating away at him, making him wonder if someone really did capture him and Trent in action. If they had, they could make the jock do whatever they bloody well pleased. Because Kirby sure as hell wasn't letting his fellow peers know about his closeted sexuality, or his rather violent partner.

The boy felt his eyelids drooping, the classroom slowly fading into black, but he snapped his eyes open when Mr. Matthews began another 'inspiring', and very loud, lecture regarding how he had visited the middle of Europe, and how much the experience had affected his life. That was just sad.

One of the worst parts of the situation was what was interrupted. Kirby finally let himself open up enough to allow Trent to touch him, and in one moment, it was ruined. And, to be honest, the jock would really have rather continued the human contact, despite his constant paranoia.

Speaking of paranoia, in the halls, Kirby had heard small talk about the school's resident sociopath. Kids kept saying how Gary caused a fight in the basement of the building. Apparently, the unknowing victim was Jimmy Hopkins, that new student that had been there for about three or four weeks.

Though, the strange thing was, Trent seemed to darken whenever either of the two were mentioned; the brown-haired teen didn't really know exactly what about the students upset the bully, but he had a theory. Before Gary got out of hand, and before Hopkins entered the picture, Trent had been one of the top dogs, up there with Russell, Johnny, and Ted.

Students feared him, obeyed him, and didn't fight back. Even the jocks were weary of him, though much stronger and higher up on the social ladder. Kirby knew that he was attracted to power; he used to have a crush on Gord Vendome, believe it or not. Even if at the current moment, the thought of the blue-blooded Prep made him want to vomit. But as soon as Trent got up close and personal with the small football player, he knew he had nabbed a keeper. And ever since, the taller blonde had did his best to shield Kirby from taunts and both physical and emotional violence, and the jock was greatly appreciative of that fact.

When Hopkins arrived, he quickly climbed up the ranks to stand as Bullworth's 'peace-keepr'. This must have angered Trent, because after all the chaos, the brawls, the cliques attacking each other, he was left as just another one of the rather weak bullies. Of course, Kirby still cared for him immensely, but he had to admit, the blonde's regular bad moods were having an effect on him.

And now look what happened. The pair could have been caught red-handed (or rather, red-faced), and they could be facing total public humiliation at any moment. Just wonderful. Kirby sighed lightly and let his mocha eyes scan the classroom. Trent wasn't in this class with him, which was a tad depressing. Most of his days were usually spent passing notes to and from the blonde, albeit most of them were filled with quite suggestive words that made Kirby wish he had worn looser pants, but still.

Suddenly, the jock felt eyes on him. It was an odd feeling, almost like he knew someone was watching him. It was greatly disturbing. Slowly, he mentally checked all of the desks around him. Parker, no, he was watching the teacher. Mandy, also no, she was texting under the table. Algie...he didn't really bother to check; he knew he would be writing down notes covered in nasal fluids. Derby, no, he was...

Kirby shot his eyes at the platinum haired teen next to him, who appeared to be smirking to himself at a compact in his hand. Well, that wasn't unexpected. But as soon as Kirby set his gaze back to his unused textbook, the feeling overcame him again. The jock waited for a moment before jerking his vision to Derby once more. He saw clear blue eyes flutter away from him in a split second before returning to the small compact. Kirby picked up his pencil and held onto it tightly.

The Prep was acting rather strange, usually, Derby wasn't focused on anything or anyone but himself. If that was true, then why the hell did the brown-haired jock see the blonde continue to flicker his gaze from student to student, as if noting their presence in his head? Weird, but Kirby tried to ignore the sideways glances Derby threw at him every few minutes.

Though, the small boy did remember some of the gossip going around the school that involved the Preppies. Whispers had told him that Derby had had a very aggressive dispute with his friend and bodyguard, Bif Taylor. Apparently, the two were fighting over which one of them should become heir to the Harrington House after they graduated (well, if they ever managed to graduate). Even though Derby obviously was next in line, Bif believed that he should at least own one wing of the building.

Of course, the charming blonde wasn't going to share anything with anyone. Kirby didn't have the whole story, but he predicted that violence must have ensued after the heated argument. Looking to Derby, who was staring blankly in front of him with a thoughtful expression, Kirby noticed for the first time a few bruises running along his jawline and up onto his lower right cheek. They were a faded, black-blue color that made him wonder exactly how far the fighting had gone before it was stopped.

This made Kirby thankful for Trent; he was basically some kind of force-field that bounced off other bullies and students who attempted to bother him. But of course, the football player didn't think of his partner as just a shield. He cared for him immensely, and tried to do his best to please the bully whenever he made a request. Even if Trent wanted something that had to be brought all the way back from the other side of town.

Kirby blinked when the bruises he was looking at shifted. It took the jock a few seconds to realize that Derby had turned to look back at Mr. Matthews, the teacher who was then practically jumping in excitement as he told the rest of the class how he took a thrilling tour on a canal in a remote part of Europe.

Kirby, no longer feeling watched, relaxed his tensed shoulders and gave a low sigh. A positive thought entered his mind, which gave him a shining ray of hope that peeked though dark clouds that currently inhabited his brain.

That day after classes was football practice. Thought the team wasn't currently playing anyone, practice was still required to keep the members fit, active, and eager to win any challenge thrown their way. The feeling Kirby got when exercising was, to say the least, extremely empowering. It made Kirby glad to know that he was the fastest player; it was rare for the jock to be happy about his height, because most of the time, he was left out of things that the others were doing since he was so much smaller than them. But his stature allowed him to duck oncoming opponents, and sprint swiftly without rest. This, the brown-haired boy believed, made him a valuable asset.

"...And when the boat started across the vast span of the clear blue water, I got to see the beautiful expanse of the town! Gorgeous homes sitting beside the sea-"

_'Brrriiiinnggg'_

Mr. Matthews lowered his arms, which had previously been in the air, waving around as the man assisted his enthusiastic story with movement. As soon as the bell rung, students practically shot out of their seats, eager to get away from the uninteresting subject. Kirby, along with some of the other smaller teens, was shoved to the back and had to wait until most of the class had piled out of the door to leave the room.

Re-adjusting the school books under his arm, the boy hesitantly stepped out into the halls, his eyes darting from left to right. Okay, he had to admit, he was being a little paranoid. But really, if a person had caught him and Trent on film, he had a reason to be weary of the other students. It could have been anyone, which meant that any one of the cliques could be scheming behind his back. Kirby didn't even completely trust the rest of the jocks; as much as the teen loved his teammates, they weren't exactly the most affectionate people, and they would probably jump at the chance to humiliate someone, even if it was one of their own.

The boy headed towards the entrance to the school, intending to go to the boy's dorms and work on one of the few assignments he didn't hate with every fiber of his being. A literature paper; narrative, he believed. Yeah, Mr. Galloway was a hopeless old drunk who desperately needed to get laid, but he wasn't that bad when he was sober. Even if it only lasted an hour or so.

Luckily, the man had been in his right mind when he assigned the paper to the class.

'Write to your heart's content! Tell a story with your words, craft something from the depths of your imagination!'

Well, that's what Mr. Galloway had told them to do, anyway. Thinking about it, Kirby then questioned if the man really _was _sober. The jock shook his head and continued on his way, beginning to open one of the double doors.

"Wait right there, Mister Olsen."

Kirby blinked and took his hand off the door, turning around to see who had addressed him. Thankfully, most of the students had already left the halls, heading for after school activities like cheer-leading, book club, and football practice.

The brunette made a questioning expression as he saw Mr. Hattrick walking towards him. But he raised his eyebrow when he saw a small student accompanying the teacher. Kirby could have sworn he'd seen him somewhere before, but he didn't pay much attention to people outside of sports or class.

"Uh, yeah?" The teen replied to the man, taking a few steps forward to stand properly in front of the pair. The boy next to Mr. Hattrick shifted from foot to foot, as if nervous about the encounter.

"Don't you 'uh, yeah' me, young man. You know you were scheduled to come to my room during afternoon classes to get extra help with math," The man said in a strict tone. Kirby's shoulders tensed as he remembered the assigned time. He completely forgot; all that was on his mind lately was Trent and the incident at the docks, there was no room for curriculum.

"I-I, uhm...sorry...?" The jock's apology came out as more of a question, which made Mr. Hattrick grumble and rub the bridge of his nose in frustration. Kirby gave him a cracked smile, hoping he would be let off the hook.

"Sorry doesn't get your grades up, unfortunately. Now listen here, since you're so involved in sports, I've had a word with Coach Burton,"

Kirby slowly shook his head, bracing for impact.

"...and he and I have decided that until you're making a steady ninety-five in all of your academics, you will not be allowed access to the football field, gym, or locker rooms, except for physical education."

The brunette made a small, squeaking sound, the textbook he was holding dropping to the floor. The jock stood there, mouth open, frozen in shock. No sports whatsoever...? Surely, he was joking!

"Y-you c..can't do that!"

Kirby managed to choke out, his hands clenching into fists. The boy next to Mr. Hattrick slightly backed away from the situation, a worried expression on his face.

"Unfortunately, I can. You are banned from any extra-curricular activities, which includes football. Instead of practice after school, you'll be expected to find your study partner and work in the library for two hours," Mr. Hattrick stated firmly, folding his arms across his chest and awaiting a response from the panic-stricken teen before him.

Kirby swallowed and tried hard not to outright strangle the math instructor. How dare he. That bastard knew that he loved sports, and he used it against him! That had to be breaking the law somehow, right? Right? Suddenly, part of what the teacher had said started turning the broken gears in his head.

"S..study partner...?" Kirby asked, his voice still high from the shock of what the teacher had told him. Part of him was still trying to catch up with what was going on, his mind working hard to process the information.

Mr. Hattrick nodded.

"Yes, study partner. As you are _obviously _not capable of completing any work on your own without heavy guidance, I'll be letting you have help."

The brunette's head was filled with profanities that he wished to yell at the man, his mouth just seconds away from opening and unleashing a merciless assault of curses, threats, and disses. But somehow, Kirby managed to contain his almost unbearable rage, his hands clenching and opening, his teeth grounding against each other. Unable to form coherent words, the jock waited until Mr. Hattrick spoke again.

"There aren't many successful students in this school, but I've managed to find you someone who's willing to help you pass – and excel – in your classes," The man said. Mr. Hattrick turned left and right, appearing to be looking for someone. When his gaze rested on the small boy that had stepped away from the ordeal, he gestured for the him to join them. Kirby saw the student mutter something under his breath before coming closer.

Oh. The brunette's head shakily pushed out a thought, as much as he didn't want it to. No, that kid, he wasn't...was he?

"This is Peter Kowalski. He'll be assisting you with your studies. You're lucky at least some of your peers don't completely hate you," Mr. Hattrick said, giving the short teen a push so that he stood directly in front of Kirby. The jock's eye twitched as he fully realized the absurdity of the situation. Hah...no way...he wasn't letting some stupid little kid sit with him for two hours, looking blankly at algebraic equations. He refused.

"N-no! I'm not working with this...this...thing! Isn't there anyone else?" Kirby empowered his exclamation by gesturing to the pink-clad boy in front of him, who seemed to wilt at his insult. Okay, so maybe calling him a 'thing' was a bit much, but really, Kirby couldn't see himself doing anything with the boy except maybe giving him a massive wedgie.

Mr. Hattrick frowned.

"I'm sorry to say, but no. You _will _work with Peter, otherwise you'll fail your grade and will never be admitted to play any sort of sport here again. It's sink or swim, mister Olsen," The man's words were spoken with spite, sending chills down the brunette's spine. Kirby cast another look at Peter, who gave him a weak smile. The action made the jock groan in aggravation. This problem wasn't going to resolve itself, was it? Not this time.

"Okay, fine! Fine! Can I please just go now?" Kirby said, his voice growing as he reached down and picked up his fallen textbook. All the teen wanted to do was go to his room and curl up in bed and ignore the world around him. Because apparently, said world was turning its back to him. Quickly, the jock reopened the double door, and was about to speed away, but Mr. Hattrick cut into his escape.

"Did you not listen to anything I said? After classes, you are to study in the library. Starting now."

The teacher stood there, obviously waiting for Kirby to agree. The brunette gave a feral growl, and, in one movement, took a step behind him and grabbed Peter's arm, yanking him towards him and the open door.

"Okay, that's what I'm doing! Happy now?" Kirby snarled, giving Mr. Hattrick a final glare before letting the door close the space between them. Muttering curses, the jock started speed-walking towards the boy's dorms, completely forgetting the small boy who was trailing behind him. Kirby halted when a light voice spoke to him in a nervous tone.

"Uh, aren't we supposed to go to the library?"

The question made the chocolate-eyed teen tense his shoulders in frustration. Turning to Peter, Kirby replied in a hostile voice,

"Forget it. I'm not working with you, got it? I'm not letting some dwarf sit by me and correct everything I say. So back off."

Peter flinched at the harsh words. The smaller teen was intimidated by his classmate's deadly answer. Great, he thought. Now he was not only losing Gary and Jimmy as friends, but he was messing with one of the jocks, who could probably kill him with a single punch. Petey's posture slumped in disappointment. He was really alone, wasn't he? Not one soul in Bullworth wanted to have anything to do with him, save for Gary, who only associated with the shorter-than-average teen because he was an easy target to pick on.

Though Kirby had just snapped at Petey for not leaving him alone, the jock made no movement to continue on his way, either. He was too confused.

The thoughts in the brunette's head jumbled together in one incoherent mess. No more football. He wouldn't be able to play. Banned from the field and the track, no socializing with most of his teammates. Having to study, wasting perfectly good time doing work that he had no interest in. Doing work with a wimpy kid in a pink shirt.

And then he remembered his main problem. He still didn't know who had caught him and Trent under the dock a few days back. And now that he wasn't able to play football or do anything related to sports, it made it even _more _likely that the jocks he once trusted with his life would release personal information about him.

_Everything _and _everyone _was against him, and he could do little to nothing about it.

"D-do you need help with something...?"

Kirby slowly returned to look at Peter with a pained expression. He didn't care anymore. If the whole town was ignoring his troubles, then there was no point in doing anything about it. Even the thought of embracing Trent and letting the blonde whisper sweet nothings in his ear didn't seem worth it. It was as if a cloud of depression was floating above his head, sucking the life out of him and taking away his rage almost as soon as it had arrived.

"No. Just go back to your stupid friends and let me be," Kirby replied, his voice trying hard to sound threatening, but failing miserably. Still, the jock didn't move a muscle, his eyes staring at something distant.

Peter sighed and walked closer to the taller teen, who reacted by taking a few steps back. Kirby might have been lost in a sea of emotions, but that didn't mean he would allow such a dork to make any kind of contact with him. The cliques still existed, even if Kirby couldn't correctly participate in his.

"I...don't have any friends. Not like you," Peter responded quietly, shifting the journals and notebooks in his arms so that they wouldn't fall. The teen's fingers dug deep into the covers of his textbooks, his eyes daring to stare up at the older boy in front of him.

Kirby blinked, turning his body fully so that he could properly address the other male. What the hell was this kid talking about? As hard as the jock tried, he couldn't think of any of the football players as his 'friends'. Sure, they sat at the same lunch table, and yeah, they played on the same team, but none of them related to Kirby, or talked with him or asked him how he was doing.

"What the hell do you mean? They don't get me. They don't know shit," Kirby said, his gaze occasionally scanning the area to make sure no students could see him talking to...such a nerd. If people found out he was socializing with the least popular boy in school, the brunette might as well have stolen all of Mr. Galloway's alcohol and drank himself to death. It would be social suicide.

"Well...maybe you should find someone that does get you," Peter replied, his voice slowly but surely rising to a normal tone. If the pink-clad boy was good at anything, it was giving advice. He had directed Jimmy as to how to gain respect from all of the cliques, he assisted Gary by giving him information on what was going on inside the groups, he even bothered to aid some students with their life issues. And Kirby, he decided, was just another guy who he wanted help. If he didn't kill him first.

Kirby blinked in surprise. As much as he hated to admit it, the wimp was right. He just wanted to be understood, that was all. Was that really too much to ask?

Taking the teen's silence as consent to keep talking, Peter continued.

"Finding someone to relate to you can be tough...but if there's one thing you need, it's someone who listens to you...and who doesn't care about how popular you are, or which clique you're in...You just have to have a person that knows what you're going through..."

The small boy trailed off, looking to Kirby for a response. When he got none, he started walking towards the boy's dorms, obviously not believing that the other male would go with him to the library.

A few seconds after Peter's departure, Kirby watched his breath fog through the air, the cold temperature giving him chills. Shifting his eyes to watch Peter's retreating figure, the jock bit his lip, trying desperately to fend off a persisting thought.

Taking a deep breath, Kirby pressed his textbook against his chest and sprinted to meet up with Peter, who was opening the door. The brunette grabbed the back of the younger boy's shirt collar, preventing him from going further.

"What the-"

"Listen, just listen, okay?"

Kirby said, releasing his grip when Peter turned to give him a questioning look. The jock darted his eyes, checking to see if anyone was looking. When he was assured they were alone, he spoke.

"Kid, look. I-I'll study with you. But...but you've got to help me, understand? Got it?" Kirby asked, leaning in closer so that his voice couldn't be heard. Peter tensed as he felt the other boy's breath against the side of his cheek.

Almost without thinking, the smaller teen replied simply,

"Okay. I will, don't worry."

Kirby pulled away from Peter, not hearing the nearly inaudible whimper of objection that came from the other boy. Starting away from the dorms, Kirby spoke in parting words,

"Tell anyone about this and I'll make you eat your poundcake, bitch."

As soon as the double doors were shut again, the brunette began running to the entrance gates, where most of the bullies usually hung out. He needed to find Trent; he needed human contact. He needed the blonde's arms wrapped around him to shield him from the cold.

And, most importantly...

he needed someone to listen.

**A/N:**

**Heh. That's right. I brought Petey into this, just because I can. But I assure you, there's not going to be romance between Kirby or said femme-boy. Because everyone knows that Petey belongs with Gary. Obviously. **

**Reviews will be stuck to the fridge, and flames will be used to make toasted marshmallows. **

**Thanks for reading! **


	3. Your Move

**Checkmate: Your Move**

"Well, just fire him! If he doesn't understand the care that goes into making wonderful clothing, he shouldn't be a designer!"

"But we _just _brought him in from Paris! Not to mention that Daddy has taken a liking to him-"

"Parker, dear boy, he thought _blue _looked good with _pink_! Do you honestly think he'll be useful when he made such a blunder?"

"Well I think pink goes wonderfully with blu-"

"Gord, we don't need your insight on this matter, thank you."

A quiet sigh was uttered, but brought no attention away from the loud conversation that was filling the room. Hands held a silver comb which ran cleanly through perfectly-cut blonde hair.

Derby set the grooming instrument down on the table next to his chair as he watched the exchange between his peers. Rolling his eyes when Gord made a rather bold statement about how blue _could _be worn with pink if the shade was correct, the broad-shouldered teen crossed his legs neatly, trying hard not to let out a yawn.

Really, all that Derby heard when the boys and him sat down in the common room were arguments about clothing, hair, matching colors, and business. It was all very tiring, at least to him. Of course, Derby was ready and willing to take hold of his father's oil company when the time came, but was it really necessary to talk about the matter all the time? It's not like life itself depended on what the Preps did.

The blonde tapped his fingers mutely against the surface of the side table, his eyes scanning the room and trying to find something interesting. His gaze went past the coffee table around which his friends were talking, not bothering to look at the contents spread across the top of it. Though, a second later, his blue eyes returned to the wooden surface, focusing on a single object.

The camera.

Derby's heart pumped faster through his blue-blood veins as he saw the item just sitting there, in the open. Thankfully, it seemed that none of the Preps had noticed the photographic device, as it was one of many things around it, such as checks, calculators, and expensive pens.

"What do you think, Derby? Should I fire my new designer?"

The teen transferred his vision to his friends, who were looking at him and awaiting an answer. Pulling a response out of the blue, the blonde replied,

"Definitely. He has no sense for fashion."

Parker mumbled something under his breath and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning into the chair he was sitting in. Gord frowned.  
"But why? Just because he thought blue-lined stripes went with a pink choker doesn't mean you should fire him. If you use cerulean blue with a hue between fuchsia and violet, then it looks fine," The brunette clarified, obviously not happy with being told he was wrong.

Derby couldn't resist a small smile. Gord was always a source of amusement; he simply couldn't keep himself from getting into trouble with the lower class. Well, it was either that, or he was gazing longingly at the Hopkins boy with hungry eyes. Derby already knew that the brown-haired Prep had taken a liking to the new student. But that was old news; he had something better than a scandal between a Prep and a newbie.

A bully and a jock.

The blonde's smile stretched into a smirk as he remembered the pictures that were contained in the camera. Two valuable photos of a certain pair caught under the docks near the beach. Derby had been watching; not just the contrasting duo, but the whole school. He liked the idea of knowing what was going on, where it was, and why. He already had rather boring information concerning Beatrice and one of the jocks. He was over the private fight between Hopkins and that boy in the pink shirt. And there was no point in being proud of the pictures he had taken showing Coach Burton buying pornographic magazines at the corner mart.

But for some reason, a relationship between Trent Northwick and Kirby Olsen was too good to resist. It was rare that Derby walked on the beach, but he had been feeling down as of late, so, from advice given to him by his father, he skimmed the shoreline with a camera, scanning the area for photo opportunities.

And damn, had he found an opportunity.

As discreetly as he could, Derby had snapped two shots of the pair and had taken off running, adrenaline pulsing through him. Looking at the camera then, on the coffee table, the head Prep realized just how much power he had. Complete control over two students at Bullworth; who could ask for more? Not to mention that the two students resided in completely different cliques, which made the whole scenario even better.

He could make either one of them do whatever he pleased. The blonde knew that Kirby was very shy, and had no intentions of revealing his darkest secrets to anyone. Trent, on the other hand, was quite bold about his sexuality, yet for some reason, the school still didn't think of him as homosexual, nor bisexual. And whether or not the school believed he was gay or otherwise, Trent didn't seem to give a care. But Derby knew his weak spot. The only thing that mattered more than his fellow bullies, and inflicting pain on other students, was Kirby.

Derby had observed the pair in Bullworth Vale, taking walks and holding hands. He had seen them at the carnival when Trent gave the jock a shimmering bracelet. Even out in the open, in front of the movie theater and chatting about things that didn't matter. They were obviously close, and that just made it even more pleasing to Derby. Ah, blackmail was a wonderful thing indeed.

Looking out among the group of his rich peers, the Prep was thankful for the photographs he had taken a few nights before. As much fun as it was to laugh at the lower class with the others and step all over the lives of the less fortunate, the blonde had been getting bored with most of the people around him. Since he rarely ever socialized with anyone other than one of the other Preps, he almost always knew what their responses would be to any of his questions or taunts. In other words, he literally knew too much.

It wasn't fun trying to toy with the minds of the Preps when he already knew what the outcome would be. He had tried messing with the nerds, but they were simply too easy to shame. Even the smallest insult would send them over the edge; he wanted a challenge. The greasers were too violent. Derby hated to admit it, but if he even thought about bothering one of the hard-eyed grease monkeys, he would have gotten his ass handed to him. After all, it wasn't like the head Prep was invincible, even as much as he would like to believe it.

Before obtaining the pictures, Derby didn't think he could associate with the bully clique, either. They were much too simple-minded and aggressive, as they would have attacked him if he so much as took a step near them. But, Derby thought then, he had evidence that one of the most violent bullies in the group was breaking the unwritten clique rules by sneaking under the noses of his friends and secretly meeting a jock.

Another thing Derby knew was that Kirby was basically stepping on egg shells; in other words, he was being extremely cautious, obviously not wanting the person who had captured him and Trent under the docks to release any personal information. Of course, the Prep wasn't just going to ruin this wonderful chance by outright pasting the pictures all over the school. No, that was much too narrow-minded. He was being given the opportunity of a life time; he was in control of two valuable marionettes, and he wasn't going to ruin that fact by bluntly throwing the photos across the whole student body. Derby was smart, he knew that there were many things he could do before he decided to completely humiliate Trent and Kirby.

Drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of a yawn, the blonde returned his attention to the other boys in the common room. Parker had stood, up stretching his arms above his head while saying in a tired voice,

"It's nearly nine thirty, chaps. If I don't get my beauty rest, I'm blaming it on you lot."

A rumble of agreement ran through the rest of the Preps as more stood up, starting to head to their respective rooms. A few 'good nights' and 'splendid dreams' were exchanged, and soon, Derby was only one of the two left in the lobby. The other was Gord, who was standing slightly in front of the blonde.

"Is there something you need?" Derby inquired, pushing himself off the comfortable chair and dusting off his sweater vest, even though there was no sign of any dirt or filth. The brunette came closer to the head Prep, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Not really. I just wanted to know why you're acting so distant lately," Gord said, looking the blonde straight in the eye, unblinking. His mocha orbs pried deep into Derby's, as if asking the question mentally, as well.

"Whatever do you mean? I'm not acting any different than I normally do," The head Prep replied, the gears in his mind working hard to pump out believable lies. Of course. Derby had forgotten about that one Prep who noticed things that the others didn't. Gord. If there was a single student in Bullworth that payed attention to everything besides Derby and Gary Smith, it was the brunette standing in front of him. Derby knew that Gord made it his priority to keep track of what was going on everywhere on campus, despite his place in the Preps clique. The slim teen never let his spot in the social circle come between him and the things he wanted to do, which made him quite an annoyance, in Derby's opinion.

"Yes, you are, my friend. All you've been doing all day is mumbling things to yourself and looking around the classrooms like a lost puppy. What's the matter?" Gord asked, standing firm, obviously not going to be on his way until he got a satisfying answer. Derby sighed.

"It's nothing of your concern, so you needn't hurt yourself over worrying about me," The blonde responded, putting an edge in his voice and trying to make it obvious to the other male that he was not wanted. Gord seemed to ignore this warning, and continued his approach, soon only about a foot away from the other Prep. Derby repressed the urge to slap the hell out of the brunette; he didn't appreciate it when people stepped inside his personal bubble, and that bubble was fairly large.

"...Are you completely sure? I just don't want you to get worked up about something that doesn't matter. You know how you get," Gord said, raising an eyebrow, inviting Derby to spill whatever information he had as to why he was acting so out of the ordinary. The blond's eyes flew to the camera on the table, for only a fraction of a second, but returned to attention as he replied,

"Yes. I'm certain that nothing is amiss. Now get on your way before I have to lock you outside again," Derby's threat was anything but fake; according to the cerulean-eyed teen, any time that Gord started acting more like a worried, pathetic peasant, the more time he spent in the cold, cursing and trying to find a way back inside the house. It was a fitting punishment for someone who associated with scum like the greasers, he believed.

Gord's stature stiffened visibly as he turned and looked out one of the large windows in the lobby, as if measuring how much trouble it would be to defeat the lock system so that he could get to sleep. The brunette swallowed hard and said,

"Well...fine, I believe you. But I certainly hope that you'll be alright tomorrow. Good evening," Gord took one last look at Derby, his eyes filled with suspicion. The Prep obviously didn't want to leave without a good answer, but tiredness was setting in, causing him to ignore his instinctive questioning. Gord headed on his way to his room, which was located at the very end of the west wing hall.

Derby let out a breath of relief when the other male was out of sight. Honestly, the blonde thought, did everything have to interfere with his fun? It seemed that he couldn't do anything he wanted to without being followed by a group of obedient Preps.

As much as Derby respected his peer group, and as much as he appreciated the things they did for him, he simply was exhausted with the others' taunting antics and rude behavior. Towards each other, the Preppies were courteous and civil, chatting together and laughing at things they found amusing. But when a lower class students so much as batted an eyelid in the presence of the Aquaberry-fitted teens, they were subjected to a wave of hurtful insults and cruelty. Now, keep in mind, Derby didn't really have a problem with humiliating random students in front of their friends, but it was the principle of the thing. He knew that if the Preppies had the knowledge of him and his prized photos, they would completely take advantage of them and try to spam the school with said evidence. Even if they were his so-called 'friends'. And that was just plain irritating.

Mumbling curses to himself, Derby walked up to the coffee table in the middle of the lobby and picked up the camera, turning it in his grasp a few times, wondering about the pictures. It wasn't like he knew exactly what he was going to do with them; he couldn't know everything that was going to happen, after all. But he had somewhat of an idea forming in his head.

What was most important to Kirby was his reputation, and what was most important to Trent was Kirby, along with the students he bullied. So, logically, all he had to do was mess with those precious things. Which meant screwing up the life of the small jock as much as he could without drawing too much attention. In other words, play around with Kirby, then go from there.

The most important question, was of course...

How was he going to 'play'?

**A/N: Yup. A whole chapter centered around Derby. Didn't think it could be done. Thanks for readings, puppies! **


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